


Fifteen Minutes

by Goodluckdetective (scorpiontales)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mind Control, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-07-23 14:40:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7467267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpiontales/pseuds/Goodluckdetective
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was only gone for fifteen minutes.</p><p>Fifteen minutes can change everything.</p><p>Hanzo, Talon and Project Widowmaker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fifteen Minutes

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Let Sleeping Dragons Lie](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7085905) by [albawrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/albawrites/pseuds/albawrites). 



> I kinda hate how this fic turned out but I'm stubborn and have accepted I should just post it and let it be.
> 
> This fic was inspired by the one linked above, at least with the original concept of Talon Mind control. I realized I forgot to link it (for which I should be shamed) and it's linked below. I highly rec giving it a look. It's worth all the praise it has gotten and more.
> 
> Thank you to the discord server for their support.
> 
> After this, I will stop being mean to McCree, I swear.

He was gone for fifteen minutes.

Fifteen minutes, that was all it took for Talon to drag Hanzo Shimada off into the shadows, tie him to a chair, and tinker with his brain like it was some kind of puzzle. 

He remembered every second, and perhaps that was the worst part, the memory of something best left forgotten. Like his father’s dying breaths decades ago. Or how Genji’s blood had pooled into his sandals that fateful day, soaking them red. This, Hanzo thought, would likely count as one of those memories, if he lived through it. Agents in all black, faces expressionless. A piece of fabric in his mouth, tied behind his head too tight. The way the wooden chair they tied him to dug splinters into his wrists.

Yes. This would be a memory best left forgotten. 

“We have to hurry,” one of the agents said, a man, tall. Hanzo tried to get a better look at him--he would not die to a man without seeing his face--but the darkness of the warehouse made a good view impossible. “Took long, they’ll get suspicious.”

_ They are already suspicious _ , Hanzo thought, keeping his face passive. Not a minute went by on a mission without Tracer or McCree making a terrible joke, and thus, not a minute went by where they didn’t hear Hanzo complain about their terrible sense of humor. With over ten minutes without commentary from Hanzo, they must have known something had gone terribly wrong. Hanzo was almost positive they’d found the spot he was grabbed by now, the teeth he spat out after being socked in the jaw, the blood from a cut to his arm, the bow and arrows left behind when he was dragged away.

They’d also find the three bodies Hanzo left behind fighting Talon off. If he did die here, he would do so knowing he took part of the enemy with him.

(He did not want to die here. Not with his life as it was now, with Genji sharing tea with him in the mornings, and Mei discussing weather patterns with him as they watched the sunset. With Lena chattering away over the com, and Lúcio showing him music he thought Hanzo might like. With McCree looking at him like he was something more than a series of poorly made decisions).

“I said hurry,” the agent said to one of the other men, someone off in the corner, rifling through a bag. “We can’t miss our chance.”

Hanzo lifted up his chin. If they were going to kill him, they would have to do it looking him in the eye. The man in the corner let out a noise, lifting something out from the bag. When he took a step forward, Hanzo could see what was in his hand: a vial and a syringe. Another step and he could see the label.

Operation Widowmaker. 

Hanzo’s eyes widened. He knew the records. He know the history there, the history of a soft woman turned stone, a wife turned murderer. And they were to-

He struggled in his chair, trying to buy time, to throw himself over. To escape. The other agents held him in place. 

“Hurry,” the main agent said and Hanzo wished he could talk, wished he could say something, because no, not this, never this. He would rather die. The man with the needle pressed it into the vial and drew out a sample. Hanzo could feel his wrists bleed from struggling against the rope. They cannot-

They sunk the needle into Hanzo’s forearm and as the nanobots ran through his veins, Hanzo’s world went black. 

 

* * *

 

He woke up in the infirmary. 

No, that was not right. The nanobots woke up in the infirmary. Because as Hanzo tried to get himself in a sitting position, they kept him in place, flat on his back. Like a puppet. 

“ _ Look brother, you can’t see the strings! _ ” That was what Genji had said to him years ago at a puppet show. Hanzo couldn’t help but remember that moment in terrifying clarity while on the infirmary bed.

Talon’s puppet. He was Talon’s puppet. Watch him dance. 

“Hanzo,” Angela’s face appeared over him, and Hanzo tried to hope his mouth to warn her. It refused to open. “You scared us quite a bit.”

She explained his injuries, in a clinical voice with just a hint of worry. Hanzo kept trying to fight against the invisible force that was keeping him captive but he had no such luck, caged by his own body. It was a growing horror that he realized he wasn’t restrained in the slightest. They didn’t know. How could they not know-

_ He was only gone for fifteen minutes.  _

“We found you right as they were trying to drag you into transport. When they saw us, they left you to make an escape.” She looked down at him, her expression more serious. Angela the interrogator instead of Angela the medic. “Do you know what they wanted from you?” 

Hanzo did know. They already got it. That is why they left him so easily.  They wanted a plant, something to put into Overwatch, to cause havok. Someone they wouldn’t suspect. Widowmaker had taken weeks, after all. How could they suspect someone gone for only fifteen minutes?

That was what Hanzo wanted to say. Instead his mouth opened and said what Talon wanted. 

“Information. They wanted information. On Overwatch. I told them nothing.”

Angela looked at him for a moment and Hanzo hoped she saw through the ruse. That she picked up the nanobots in his system and was just testing him. But instead her mouth curved into a light smile. A smile she would give Hanzo the man, not Hanzo Talon’s puppet.

“They should have known better. You are not an easy man to get information on.” Hanzo sat up, not by his own willpower. He could feel one of his hands clench into a fist. No. He couldn’t. Angela was a healer, a good woman. He couldn’t hurt her. “Your friends have been worried about you. I swear, if McCree spent one more moment fretting in my office, I would have hit him so hard he’d have to be here for legitimate medical reasons. And there they are.”

Hanzo tuned to the door. It was wide open and standing outside was everyone. Genji and McCree stood near the front. McCree’s hat was in his hands. Hanzo felt his hand relax out of the fist.

The nanobots did not seem to want an audience. 

“What did I say about lingering outside my office,” Angela said, her voice low, almost threatening. Everyone took a step back. “And he is fine, just so you all know. But not if you’re intent to badger him to death.”

“No badgering, I promise,” McCree stepped in first, head tilted back, a smile on his face. It didn’t reach his eyes. He’d been worried then. “Hey there, Hanzo. How you feeling?”

“Fine.” He got up despite having no desire to. It was like he was watching himself move and talk from outside of his own body, unable to have any input. 

“We were worried you know,” McCree threw his arm over Hanzo’s shoulders, leading him to the door. “Gave everyone enough stress that Angie’s gonna spend weeks checking our blood pressure. Ain’t the right, Genji?”   


Genji walked through the door. Hanzo wanted to warn his brother to flee, if the nanobots took hold of him now, he’d be forced to kill his brother once more. No such warning came to his lips. “I am glad to see you recovered brother.” He reached out his hand as if to grab Hanzo’s shoulder, then stopped. “We were worried.”

“Eh, we weren’t that worried. I was half sure we were gonna burst into that warehouse to find you surrounded by dead goons.” McCree’s voice wasn’t as light as usual. This was bothering him more than he let on. Good. It may tip him off that something was wrong if he was alert. 

They lead him out into the hallway, where everyone else was waiting. Hanzo felt the world fade out, the smiling faces of his friends grow distance. The nanobots, they were taking effect. Fear flooded through his body. With the crowd around, he doubted he’d be able to hurt them all, but he knew his own strength. If taken by surprise, he could kill at least one person in this room before anyone tried to stop him.

It is with that horrible thought that Hanzo lost himself to the nanobots hum. 

* * *

  
  


He came back to himself in his room.

McCree was there, standing in the doorway, talking to someone in a low voice. That was a mild relief, hanzo thought; he doubted he would be so free if the nanobots had indeed tried to injure someone. Hanzo was sitting on his bed in the same clothes he’d left the infirmary. He doubted he’d been here for long: he must have just lost the time on the walk to their room.  He attempted to move again, to regain control of his own body, but the nanobots were still mostly in control. All Hanzo could do was wait. 

“Thanks Lena.” McCree shut the door and Hanzo felt the fear from earlier rise back up again. Everyone else was gone. It was just him and McCree.

A man who suspected nothing.

“Wow.’ McCree turned around and smiled at Hanzo. It looked strained. “Looks like you gave everyone a scare there. Everyone and their brother wants to check if your alright. I might have to put up a sign so you can get some peace and quiet.” 

Hanzo braced himself for the nanobots to take control. To do something horrible. To attack McCree. Instead, he sat still. 

“Now let me get a look at you,” McCree said, walking over to him. Hanzo felt nothing but terror as McCree sat in front of him, close enough to be harmed. McCree’s hands went up to brush over his eye. “That is one hell of a shiner. Does it hurt?” 

“A little,” Hanzo said. It felt like a lie: Hanzo could feel nothing. McCree looked down at his wrists, cut up from Hanzo struggling at the rope earlier and sighed.

“At least you gave em’ hell.” McCree was silent for a moment, his shoulders drooping. Letting the bravado slide off. Hanzo usually treasured these moments--the moments McCree let his guard down, the persona he had to wear for years upon years to instead just be himself--but the sight of it now was terrible. For McCree to let himself be soft in front of the puppet Talon had made of him.

“When we found your bow, I thought-” McCree let out a deep breath, shutting his eyes for a moment. Hanzo wanted to comfort him, to tell him to run, to do anything. The nanobots kept him still. McCree opened his eyes and Hanzo didn’t miss the tenderness there. “Well, doesn’t matter what I thought. You’re alright. Well, alright as I could hope.” He leaned forward  and pressed a kiss to Hanzo’s forehead, right above the bruising from his black eye. “I got an ice pack for that, actually. Let me grab it.” He smirked. “Might help your nice face from swelling up more.”

McCree got up, heading for the bathroom. Hanzo watched as he went, trying desperately to break out from this fog he was in, the nanobots controlling every movement, every word. Like he was watching these events from behind a glass wall, unable to break through. Hanzo could hear him fumble around for the ice pack.

At that moment, Hanzo got up. Walked towards the dresser drawers. Opened the bottom one. Tried desperately to stop himself as he pulled out one of his throwing knives, just sharpened two days ago. 

_ No, no, no, no, no.  _

“I need to shave,” McCree said from inside the bathroom. “You think I’d look good with a trim?” He sounded retrospective. Hanzo lifted his dagger up and turned towards the door to the bathroom. Waited. 

_ No, no, no, no, no.  _ Not him. Not McCree. McCree who was kind, McCree who whistled in the early morning to wake Hanzo up, McCree who brushed his hand across his shoulder when Hanzo was upset. McCree whose laugh reminded Hanzo of lazy summer mornings dipping his feet in the pond near his house back when he was a child.

“Hanzo?” 

_ No. No. No. No. No. _ Never McCree. _ Not Jesse.  _

“Hanzo, is everything alright?” Hanzo heard footsteps from inside the bathroom. The dagger in his hands felt heavy. He tried to move, tried to stab himself instead, anything, but there was no movement. Then a twitch of his wrist, the slightest bit of control-

_ Not the man he loved.  _

“Hanzo?” The door opened. Hanzo moved.

The dagger did leave his hand. But it did not clatter to the floor like Hanzo wished. Instead it flew  through the air--like his arrows did years ago as he shot his own brother on the cobblestones--and met its mark. Right in McCree’s chest.

When McCree looks up at him, blood dripping from his chest, mouth hanging open, Hanzo felt himself hurdled back years ago. To Genji. To the screams of those in protest. The way his brother looked at him, eyes empty, and rasped his name.

“Hanzo.”

Genji was not speaking now. Instead it was McCree. McCree falling back against the wall, hand against his chest. McCree gasping for air. McCree’s blood on the once spotless floors.

“Hanzo-” McCree gasped. He fell to the floor, back against the wall. His eyes grew wide. “Talon, they-”  Hanzo wished he would scream--he could draw attention to himself and stop this nightmare-- but McCree couldn’t, not with his wound. Hanzo decided that if there was any memory he wanted to purge from his brain, any memory he could get rid of, wipe clean, it would be this one. Not the sin against his brother; that crime had to be remembered to know his own failure. This moment.

The moment where McCree looked at him and said. “It isn’t your fault.” 

Hanzo could feel the nanobots taking hold again, pushing him back where he couldn’t view the world. He struggled against it. Tried to do something. Anything.

McCree’s eyes closed.

Hanzo remembered nothing else. 

* * *

  
  


After that, snippets. 

Blood on his hands.

_ “Hanzo, where- is that blood?” _

Running through the halls.

“ _ Something is wrong, all points to Hallway A! Come armed _ !”

The throw of a knife.

_ “Brother, what are you doing!” _

A sword cutting a slice in his arm.

_ “Talon!” _

Hands pulling him back. 

_ “It’s not Hanzo, Lena, run!” _

The flicker of light from a broken lamp.

_ “Shit, where’s McCree!” _

Angela, dodging an arrow and fleeing to the hallway. 

A quiver of arrows, shot into the air. 

_ “Get my EMP!” _

A pulse through the air, a pain in his head, strings cut from a puppet with the slice of a sword.

Silence.

 

* * *

 

The next time Hanzo woke, it was under his own power.

He was in the infirmary once more. His hands weren’t bound to the cot, but it felt like they’d been restrained before. He looked to the side and stared down at them, taking in his injuries. Yes, there were new injuries, and not just from the rope. They must have restrained him again. After-

_ McCree. _

Hanzo sat up at once.

“Hanzo!” Lena grabbed him--where had she come from--and pushed him back down onto the cot. “Hanzo, everything is fine, the nanobots are gone, you’re fine.”

That was not what Hanzo was worried about. He pushed her arms away and grabbed her shoulders. Shook her once. Rasped out a name.

“McCree.”

Lena’s expression fell. And with it Hanzo could feel his world fall apart.  _ No. No. No. _

(An image came to mind, in those horrible five seconds before Lena spoke. Of honoring someone else once a year, a life taken too soon. The smell of incense. A cowboy hat and a serapa never worn again, growing dusty in his closet. A picture face down, a picture he will be incapable of looking at because all he will be able to see is McCree’s eyes right before they shut, blameless to the last moment-”

“Hanzo.” This time it was Lena who was shaking him. “He’s alive.” 

Hanzo stared for one moment. Let that information sink in. And before Lena could hold him back, could stop him from leaving, he was running, down the hallway, down the medical ward, to a room with an open door and-

_ Jesse. _

Jesse, his upper torso covered in bandages. Jesse, eyes sunken, skin pale. Jesse, with tubes in his arm.

Jesse who was smiling at him like the rising sun.

“Hey Hanzo,” McCree said, voice cracking. “It’s good to have you back.”

Hanzo fell back against the wall and tried to remember how to breathe.

* * *

 

It took awhile to get back to their version of normal. For McCree to be able to stay out of bed. For Hanzo to forgive himself for actions not his own. For both of them to stop flinching at the sight on one another.

It got better. Nightmares faded from every night, to once a week, to once a month. McCree was allowed back on the field. Teammates no longer watched Hanzo worried he may revert to Talon at any second.

“I’m glad we could save someone,” Lena told him one day, a week after the incident. She looked down at her hands, at a tattoo on her wrist. A small spider. “Talon’s taken too many, aye?”

Hanzo did not like to think of that moment, where the persona of Tracer fell away to reveal a young woman who’d seen too much and kept so little. 

“I was worried we wouldn’t get you back,” McCree told him, when they were sitting in the training room. “Thought you’d run off and the next time I’d see you, you’d be all purple. If you’d managed to escape, to go back to them, I-”

Hanzo walked up to him. Placed his hand on McCree’s heart. Felt the thud there that said “alive.” 

“I have no intentions of leaving.”

“With Talon intentions ain’t-”

Hanzo reached for McCree’s face. Tilted up his chin. Made him look Hanzo in the eye. 

“Jesse. I am not leaving.”

McCree closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. “I ain’t either.” Hanzo’s hand was still over his heart.

Not leaving. Easier said than done in a world gunning for them both. Hanzo’s family after him day and night. The bounty on McCree’s head. The potential of a bullet to rip them away faster than any nanobots of Talon’s. Not leaving was a gamble against odds. 

Both prayed it would be a gamble they’d win.

 


End file.
